


The Enemy in my bed

by Colonel_Moriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colonel_Moriarty/pseuds/Colonel_Moriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another little ficlet. Set past Reichenbach.</p>
<p>Dark!Sherlock and Sebastian Moran meet up under very unlikely circumstances.</p>
<p>Sebastian is told a truth he doesnt want to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Enemy in my bed

Jim Moriarty was dead.

Sebastian Moran had been too late to stop him. All he had seen was the result.

Jims body laying on the rooftop, blood seeping into the concrete around his head, that strange smile edged onto his lips, eyes wide open, the brown pupils unseeing.

The sniper had not managed to get the body though as police arrived and he was forced to leave the scene in a hurry.

He rather didn’t want to be caught with a rifle case in the middle of the street.

Afterwards he had returned to the flat. And waited. He wasn’t even sure why but he was waiting for Jim to return. To push the door open and dance inside, all excited and exhilarated from his big game.

But Jim didn’t return and Sebastian was left with the task to keep the spider web from falling apart. He felt it was his duty to keep things going. Keep Jim’s legacy alive. But without Jim pulling the strings the sniper felt himself failing.

Dekker had suggested to him to let the other recruits go. Disassemble Jim’s little army and allow everybody to seek a new job. A new employer.

But Sebastian wouldn’t hear of it. Dekker’s words had earned the man a quick punch in the face and he had realized that the loss of Jim Moriarty had left Moran broken. He knew that soon enough Sebastian would break down fully but until then it was best to obey and act as if everything was alright.

A few weeks later after a long briefing and a few meetings with various clients Sebastian finally returned to the flat him and Jim had shared ever since Jim had burned down the snipers old home. Turning the key in the lock he stopped immediately when he realized that the door was no longer locked. Did he forget this morning? But no, despite not having had much sleep lately, he would never be this careless.

Reaching into his jacket he pulled out his gun from its hidden holster, fingers gripping the weapon firmly as he leaned against the wall next to the door, counting, drawing in a deep breath before pushing the door open, crouching down, as he trained the gun at whoever would appear first.

But the hallway was empty and Sebastian found himself slowly creeping into the flat, closing the door quietly so he could not be surprised from behind. Moving further he held his breath, hearing an odd sound in the distance. Somebody was typing on the keyboard of a laptop. For a moment Moran’s eyes widened and he almost dropped his guard.

Jim? Had Jim returned? For a moment Sebastian’s heartbeat grew fast, thumping dully against his ribcage as he forced himself to calm down again.

A few minutes later he was in the living room, still in a crouched position, gun trained on the figure occupying the sofa.

It was not Jim. The man was far taller. A dark coat was draped over the backrest of the couch next to him as he continued to type on Jim’s laptop as if it was his. How did he break through Jim’s security?

But that wasn’t even the main part that made the sniper breathless, his eyes growing wide as he stared at the other person. Finally the other man raised his head, a calm look of blue eyes meeting Sebastian own steel grey ones.

“Good evening, Colonel Moran.” the one sitting on the couch said, sounding not in the least nervous at the prospect of having a gun aimed at himself and a finger on the trigger, so close to pulling it.

Sebastian still couldn’t find his voice, mouth opening as he stared rather blankly at the well known face on the other side of the room.

“Holmes!” his voice sounded strangely coarse and choked as he finally stood up, still holding the gun trained, the urge to shoot and kill the intruder present in the expression of his eyes and the way he moved around, movements jerky and fast. He was certain he was dreaming. It simply could not be true.

Sherlock raised a brow ever so slightly then nodded as if he just remembered something.

“Ah right, I forgot. I should have estimated your reaction to finding me here, Colonel. But I guess I don’t need to explain to you anymore that I’m alive and fairly well. You can put your gun away now. I’m not armed and I would be rather upset to be shot here by you. I got so much work to catch up with.”

Sebastian tried to process a coherent thought, standing there in utter shock. The nerve this man had! Not only did he intrude here but he also was acting as if this was –his- place. His mere presence was enough to soil it. The sniper lowered the gun even so, but he didn’t put the safety on just yet. Instead he covered the distance between them in a few fast steps, hand lashing out to grab Sherlock by the collar of his shirt in an attempt to pull him off the couch.

Sherlock’s one hand grabbed the laptop to balance in, the other gripped Moran’s wrist as he looked the other man straight in the eyes, that expression of displeasure still there.

“Colonel, you really should get a hold of yourself and your temper now.” he said smoothly, which made Sebastian tremble with barely contained rage.

“Fuck you! How –dare- you come here and talk to me like that? How can –you- be alive but Jim is buried 6 feet under? Please give me another reason to blow your brains out just like Jim blew out his. I –beg- you.” he hissed into Holmes face, lifting the gun again.

Sherlock’s frown didn’t help to calm him down a bit, on the contrary.

“There’s an important detail you’re missing right now, Colonel.” the tall slender man with the curly dark locks said, sounding almost as if he was talking to a child.

The snipers eyes grew small.

“And what detail might that be?”

“Jim Moriaty never existed.”

Sherlock noticed with a certain satisfaction how Sebastian’s face changed, growing suddenly very pale, gun almost slipping from his fingers.

“What?”

He had heard the words, he had understood them but his brain was unable to really grasp their meaning. It was not possible anyways.

“Jim Moriarty never existed. You see…” Holmes gently pulled Moran’s hands from his collar, sitting back down, placing the laptop on the glass table in front of the couch, steepling his fingers slowly, “there was no Jim Moriarty. Just an actor named Richard Brook. A very brilliant actor. With a brilliant mind. But he lost himself in his role. And in the end he believed he was Jim Moriarty. It was very unfortunate but I had to put an end to it before he’d ruin everything.”

The sniper stared at the other man, listening without fully understanding, his face starting to twitch.

“That…that’s bullshit!” he exclaimed then, trying to shake off a sudden sensations of doubt. “You’re making all of this up! But why?”

Sherlock gave a deep sigh. This would prove to be harder than he had thought at first. He should have collected more information about Brook’s and Moran’s exact relationship. Obviously the Colonel had grown so very attached to the insane actor. But hopefully he could reverse the damage. Otherwise…

“I fear, my dear Colonel, it is nothing but the truth. You must understand that I have grown quite tired of my usual cases. I wanted more. A challenge. Unfortunately I couldn’t put myself into the position of a consulting criminal without the possibility of being found out. I needed a man to cover it up for me. And Richard Brook was the right man. He was very excited when I approached him with my request but it took him a year or two to fully understand the magnitude of the things I were doing. Obviously after I recruited you to be his right hand man something had caused his mind to lose track of reality and he let himself become submerged in his role. He really thought he –was- Jim Moriarty. And unfortunately your presence made it even worse because you constantly reminded him of a lie he had made into reality.”

Sherlock examined Moran’s face quietly, noticing just how much his words were affecting the other man. Jim Moriarty had been as real for the sniper as Holmes was. But Holmes was alive while Jim… But if Jim had never really existed, he didn’t really die either. In a way Holmes had been Jim.

He gave Sebastian another moment to recover from the news before continuing.

“A year ago I realized that Brook was no longer just playing a role and helping me keep myself hidden behind him. He started to challenge me directly, calling me out. It was quite fascinating to watch his transformation and to see how his mind was working. For a while I actually enjoyed his games as Jim from IT. But then I quickly came to the conclusion that he actually wanted me dead. So he could truly become Jim Moriarty and I would not be able to push him out of his place in the intricate web I had spun to begin with. You do understand I had no choice but to go along with his game while changing the rules a bit to my favor, don’t you?”

Sebastian realized he understood less the more Holmes told him. The only thought he could grasp was that the detective had revealed to him that the man he had worked for, lived with and even shared bed with had not been real. How had it been possible that he didn’t suspect anything? That he too had been completely convinced that he was working for Jim Moriarty, consulting criminal. No, no, it couldn’t be. Holmes was lying. Lying to… To do what? To gain what?

The sniper clutched his head, gun still in his hand but it was hanging uselessly at his side. The world had already come crashing down on him and now he was once again in that situation where he was losing the ground under his feet. It was like standing on top of a cliff and Holmes was about to give him the final push.

There were still too many questions but Sebastian couldn’t ask them right now. He couldn’t think, even less speak. Instead he holstered his gun and turned his gaze away from the man on the couch.

“I’m going to bed. I need sleep.” he heard himself mutter in a voice that seemed too detached from his body. In fact he felt as if he was watching himself from afar. His movements looked so tired and all energy had been sapped from him.

Sherlock nodded, watching the tall blonde man cross the living room.

He would need a while to fully understand the changes. But Holmes had no time or the wish to comfort the sniper. He had more important things to do. Like reminding some of Jim’s clients that he still expected payment. And some of his associates needed to be put back into their place. He had worked too hard to let his network be destroyed by the recent events. He also had to send out a few people to keep an eye on John. The good doctor still believed in him. Which was as adorable as it was dangerous. He would return to him one day, he already had it all planned out. For now he hoped Mycroft would make sure that John stayed sane. Sherlock couldn’t afford another loose cannon in his future projects. Sighing a bit he continued to type on Jim’s…no on his laptop a while longer before he finally closed it.

The flat would be a good place for him to stay right now. It was far enough away from Baker Street but still close enough to the main places of town. From here he could quickly get everywhere. Sherlock run his fingers through his curly hair, sighing softly as he stretched out on the couch. He should change looks maybe. Cut his hair shorter, dye it red. Maybe get some colored contact lenses. He’d have Sebastian arrange everything for him.

Standing he looked around. It had not been the first time he had been here but even so it felt unfamiliar to him. Richard Brook’s presence could still be felt lingering in every corner. Sherlock placed two fingers against his lips, thoughtful for a moment. Then he headed for the second bedroom that Brook had occupied. He undressed quickly, before slipping under the covers. With little surprise he noted that nobody had changed the bed sheets and that there was the combined scent of Brook and the Colonel lingering in the cloth. An interesting detail. So Moran had slept in this bed ever since he believed his boss had killed himself. Fascinating.

Sebastian Moran had not fallen asleep, lying awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling, still fully clothed. He was listening to his heartbeat, calm again but only on the outside. Inside his mind was a mess. Millions of thoughts were running through his head, memories the things Jim had said and done. His Jim.

Jim Moriarty.

Richard Brook.

He simply couldn’t wrap his mind around it. That he had lived a lie for so many years. Had grown so attached and loyal to a man that had only existed in name but not in person.

No, that wasn’t true either.

Jim had been real to him. As real as Sherlock Holmes.

Pressing his palms to his eyes he tried to block out everything but it didn’t work. Then he finally got up, checking his watch. 3 am. And yet he didn’t feel tired at all. At least not in the sense that he needed sleep. Touching his chest he felt the gun holster under his hand, an odd expression growing on his face. Then he quietly left his room, heading towards the room Sherlock now occupied.

The sniper’s feet barely made any sound on the carpet nor did he make any noise when he opened the door to the other bedroom. The light filtering in from the living room allowed him a good view on the other man once his eyes grew accustomed to the penumbra. He walked to the side of the bed, not even thinking much as he drew his gun. Lowering his arm he aligned the weapon until the muzzle was pointing at Sherlock’s temple. All that was needed for him was to pull the trigger. He couldn’t miss at this range. It would be quick and Holmes blood would stain the pillow case just like Jim’s blood had stained the concrete on top of the building. The consulting detective wouldn’t even wake up. Moran would do it for Jim. And for himself. He had wanted to kill this man for the past years. And this time his boss would not be around to stop him.

The thought made him smile as his finger started to push down on the trigger.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————

When Sherlock woke up, he was greeted by the scent of bacon and scrambled eggs, the smell coming from the kitchen where the sniper was busy preparing breakfast. Getting dressed he walked into the living room, watching Moran set the table.

When Sebastian noticed the other man he stopped, standing up straight in some sort of at attention stance. Holmes gave him a curious glance, a bit fascinated by the snipers behavior.

“I take it you changed your mind last night.” he then said calmly, “although I have to admit I’m not fully certain of the reasons why you decided not to shoot me when you had the chance. I was not exactly in a position to dodge the bullet.”

Sebastian’s only reply was a strange grin.

“I wouldn’t dare to shoot you, boss.” he replied just as calmly. “I heard we got a busy day ahead. What would you like to drink?”

Holmes examined the snipers face quietly. What an interesting specimen this man was. No wonder Brook had kept him so close. There was more to him than just the loyal soldier. In a way he reminded him of John. What a peculiar thought.

“Tea.” he then answered, as he sat at the table, reaching out for a slice of toasted bread.

Moran nodded as he went to heat up the water.

Jim Moriarty was dead.

But Sherlock Holmes wasn’t.

And last night, while watching the detective sleep in his former boss’ bed, Sebastian Moran had decided that while he had pledged to be loyal to Jim Moriarty he was not breaking his given promise by following Holmes’ orders now.

Because as Holmes had told him earlier the Jim that had died had never existed. The real Jim was still with him, sitting at his table, waiting for his sniper to bring him his tea.


End file.
